


Green Wood Burns Smoky

by Kaz_Langston



Series: Light The Fire (Paul / Alec) [3]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alec Hardy & Ellie Miller Are Best Friends, Angst, Bisexual Alec Hardy, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaz_Langston/pseuds/Kaz_Langston
Summary: After their first date ended in an evening of fun, Paul and Alec struggle with a clash in their working lives.
Relationships: Alec Hardy & Ellie Miller, Paul Coates/Alec Hardy
Series: Light The Fire (Paul / Alec) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575979
Comments: 11
Kudos: 52





	Green Wood Burns Smoky

**Author's Note:**

> You’ll need to read the previous one in the series for context.

Once the door closes, Hardy heads back to the sofa. The tea is unpleasantly cool, and he puts it back on the table with a sigh before resting his head in his hands.

"Fuck," he says. "I'm too old for this."

The house is silently judgemental.

He falls asleep on the sofa, curled up under a throw, and doesn't wake until the morning.

*-*-*-*-*

In the cold light of day, Hardy is quietly horrified at himself. The memory of his neediness, his desperation from the night before burns hot and sick in his gut.

He showers, tempted to stay too long under the spray to avoid the rest of the day but that leaves room for thinking, so instead he's out in near-record time and headed straight for the station, torn between disappointment and relief when his phone has no messages.

"Missing boy," is Miller's greeting, and he stops unbuttoning his coat as she sweeps him out the door. "Call just came in."

"How old?"

"Twelve." He can see the fear in her face, pinched and pale.

"Shit."

"Parents are panicking."

"Are you?"

She scowls, but it seems to stop her mental looping. "You drive, I've got the briefing."

They spent too many months with her doing all the driving for it not to feel strange when he's behind the wheel, but he relishes it, putting his foot down more than he should given the poor weather. Miller's hand is wrapped tight around her phone, waiting for updates, and he's not sure if it's the missing child or his driving that bleaches the blood from her knuckles.

Once she's shared everything she knows on the boy, Seb Taylor - twelve, goes to the same school as Tom but a couple of years below, never done this before - there's a long silence, broken by the splash of the wheels through deep puddles. As they pass through the outskirts of Broadchurch, Ellie fixes her eyes on the rain. When she speaks, the authority is gone from her voice and she sounds very young.

"Do you think it could be Joe?"

"No."

"But-"

"It's not him, Miller." He's grim faced, jaw clenched.

"But what if it is?"

"It's not. Focus on doing your job."

Her directions are impeccable despite her nerves and her frustration at his brief responses, and it's only twenty minutes after he first walked through the station doors that they pull up outside an unremarkable semi detached home in a small village a few miles from Broadchurch. There's a pale face at a downstairs window.

They've even beaten the uniforms here, and Hardy's rapidfire knock heralds hurried footsteps. The woman who opens the door is pale, the red around her eyes and nose betraying her tears even if she hadn't been already welling up. "Have you heard anything?" She looks terrified, and fresh tears spill over as Miller shakes her head.

"Nothing yet. Mrs Taylor - Sarah - please try not to panic. You're more help to Seb if you stay calm." The distraught woman nods, Miller's voice soothing, and somehow manages to blink away tears.

"Is there somewhere we can sit down and have a chat?"

There's religious imagery everywhere. A statue of the crucifiction hangs in the hallway; there isn't a wall without a cross or an old fashioned painting.

Hardy feels faintly ill.

She leads them through to a living room, taking the seat by the window so she can peer out. "Nick - my husband - he's out looking for Seb, I'm staying here in case he comes back."

"You told the officer on the phone he's never done this before. Had he been upset at all? Behaving any differently from normal?"

"Nothing, if anything he's been really happy. He got some really good grades at school last week." Her cheeks twisted in an awkward half smile, dragged downwards by fresh tears. "We know he's been worried about them so we put them on the fridge. He was so pleased he cried."

"Can you think of anywhere he might have gone? Has he got any close friends?"

Lots of friends at school but none close.

"Any friends outside school? Anyone older? Anyone he sees regularly, maybe a tutor, a coach, someone he might trust?"

"No - no one!"

Before she can get any more distraught, Hardy nods. "Keep thinking if there's anyone he might have gone to. Can we see his room?"

There's no notes or obvious signs of disruption in the bedroom outside of the usual chaos associated with pre-teen boys, but Sarah mentions a missing backpack, and the two detectives swap glances. There's been some planning, at least.

While they're upstairs the front door swings open, and several pairs of feet tramp inside. Sarah's halfway down the stairs, hollering for Seb as she goes, only to collapse at the sight of her husband and two uniformed officers, and no son.

She's wailing on the stairs and as much as Hardy itches to nose around the rest of the house, he can't quite find it in himself to push past. Miller gives him an exasperated look and speaks up. "Lets go and sit somewhere comfortable, there's a few more questions to get through so we can give our teams somewhere to look."

She cups a hand around the poor woman's shoulder and helps her stand and stumble down the stairs. Once she reaches the bottom, Nick takes over, pressing a kiss to his wife's hair as they stagger to the living room and sit, his arm around her shoulders. He's less tearful than his wife, but still obviously upset, and there's nothing to make Hardy suspect him - or her, for that matter - other than the unusual levels of religious fervor.

They run through school friends, all rung already in the morning's panic but Hardy tells the taller officer to call them all. Adult contacts are next - the swimming instructor, not well-liked; the football coach, a possibility he hands off to the second officer. The church is next on the list. They are, as suggested by the decorations, religious, and "Reverend Paul" is mentioned with familiarity. It's not unexpected, but it still leaves a bitter taste at the back of his throat. He gives that possibility to the second officer, too. Sarah doesn't stop crying. Nick looks blank.

When a knock at the door makes them jump, Hardy nods towards the hall, relieved at the excuse to leave the emotional quagmire. "I'll get it."

Fumbling at the door catch, he's not prepared when the door swings open and there, in a soft cardigan and dog collar, slightly wide eyed, is Paul. The vicar's mouth twitches in a sudden hint of a smile but he catches it before it can do anything so inappropriate as spread.

"Alec!"

Hardy swallows.

"Paul."

He's beyond grateful when his voice doesn't betray him by cracking.

"Uh - Nick called me. He said Seb's gone missing?" Smile and shock contained, Paul looks serene and composed, though the ever-present purpling under his eyes is heavy.

Hardy stares at him, hand still wrapped around the door where he's holding it open.

"Alec?"

He jerks back to life. "Yes. Some time last night, they think."

They both choose to ignore the mention of last night, and Hardy steps aside to let him in. Paul seems to know his way already.

"Sarah, Nick."

Sarah bursts into a fresh wave of tears but holds out a hand, which Paul takes gently.

"I'm sure Seb is fine. Alec and Ellie are very good, they'll find him."

Hardy can't blush - can't think about last night at a time like this - so he forces away all thoughts of Paul and his own name and _good_. Paul's very at home here, perched on a rickety dining chair, wearing an expression that's simultaneously sympathetic and reassuring.

"Would you like me to say a prayer for Seb?"

Giving Miller a quick sideways look, Hardy escapes the room. With Paul here to give the family comfort, it's a good time for them to take a step back, take a look around the house and head back to the station to regroup and coordinate a search.

"You don't have to be so obvious about it," she says, halfway back to Broadchurch.

"About what?" He says, but he already half knows the answer.

"How much you dislike him."

"...what?" He takes his eyes off the road just long enough to take in her unimpressed expression.

"Paul! You wouldn't even look at him!"

"I don't _dislike_ him. He just... makes me nervous." That much is true, at least.

He can practically feel the eye roll from the passenger seat. "Just try not to scowl the whole time you're in the same room, you're probably going to give him a complex."

The aforementioned scowl settles on Hardy's brow and he turns back to the road, not dignifying it with a response.

*-*-*-*-*

They'll have more officers soon, and an incident room if this isn't sorted quickly, but on a Friday morning the numbers are low, a music festival over the border in Devon stealing at least the uniformed officers.

Miller does the briefing. She's experienced at them now, though Hardy still has the occasional twinge of guilt when he thinks back to the petty revenge of the first time he made her take it.

"We think he's likely a runaway, but we're treating it as a potential kidnapping just to be sure. He was last seen at eleven last night when his mum looked in, so he might have been gone twelve hours already. We need to get a move on. Got it?"

The affirmative chorus echoes through the room.

"Broadchurch is the nearest train station, we've let them know to keep an eye out for an unaccompanied child but we'll have extra patrols in place too."

Hardy hates her a little bit for her next words, but they have to be said. "They're a very religious family; Paul Coates may be the closest adult figure Seb has outside of school. We'll have a little chat with him as soon as he's away from the family."

"Phone is off but we'll go through the records, Katy you've got his computer. You three - door to door, check sheds, allotments, anywhere a twelve year old might think is safe and dry. Take a couple of uniforms if you can get them."

She looks round at the team, outwardly calm though Hardy can see her nerves. "It's cold and wet, and he's probably scared. I want to find him fast."

*-*-*-*-*

Hardy's taking a moment to himself, just taking a few deep breaths and trying to take a step back from the details of the investigation (he has no text messages, no missed calls) when his peripheral vision catches Sergeant Roberts hovering at the door. She's a new transfer from somewhere up north and he's only spoken to her once before, an awkward stilted conversion in the kitchen while they waited for the kettle to boil. At his raised eyebrows she shuffles further into the room, where she looks even less comfortable.

"Sir - I'm just thinking - is it appropriate for DS Miller to be on this case? With - Danny, and everything."

Hardy stares up at her in silence until she shifts uncomfortably. "Shut the door."

Swallowing, she slides the door shut, catching the handle at the last second to close it near-silently.

When she looks back at the DI, he seems to have aged ten years.

"I know it's been hard for you to settle in here, that a lot of things happened before your time. But Ellie Miller had no involvement in any of that. None. At all. And if I _ever_ hear you voicing those suspicions again you'll be out. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Her voice doesn't tremble despite his stern tone.

He sighs and rubs at his face, choosing his next words carefully, though he wants to dismiss her with cruelty for even entertaining the possibility that Ellie Miller had anything to do with - that. "Thank you for raising it with me."

"Sir?"

"It's hard to tell a senior officer when you think something's being done wrong. You did the right thing coming to me."

He bends back over his files, and she takes it as her signal to leave. As she makes a beeline for the kitchen, desperately in need of a cup of tea, she has the feeling that she's somehow survived the lion's den with only a scratch.

*-*-*-*-*

Alec resists the urge to put his head in his hands as the door closes behind the young officer. He won't mention this to Miller, but the fact it's even been brought up is demoralising.

Still, Danny Latimer's tragic death proved you can never really know a person, and he vows to examine Paul more carefully the next time they speak, whether that's in the course of the investigation or... not.

There's a knock on the door again, and he scowls at the second intruder, before his distracted brain realises it's Miller and he forces a blank expression. She ignores both his filthy look and the improved version, and he regrets the exertion. "Coates has just left the Taylor house - want to go question him?"

"No time like the present."

His phone buzzes and he takes a surreptitious glance at it, or as surreptitious as he can manage when he's not got his glasses on and has to hold it at arm's length.

_Hi. Hope seeing me this morning wasn't a shock, I'd have texted in advance if I'd known you'd be there._

_Dinner was lovely._

_P x_

His stomach flips excitedly, but then sinks like a rock. Bad timing. He closes the message and shoves his phone in his pocket.

The rain has finally stopped, and Miller looks up at the grey sky. "Looks like it's clearing up, should be good for an hour or two - walk?"

There's a bloody weather report to check for that, he thinks sourly, you don't need to look at the sky and stick a finger in the air.

Biting it back he nods. It's not far to the vicarage and they've been buried in CCTV and various dead ends of evidence all morning, the walk might do them good. Might clear his head before having to face Paul.

It's still damp outside the church, which means they avoid the awkward situation of sitting on the same bench they used to interview Paul about Danny. Instead, he shows them to the vestry, littered with paper covered in a neat script.

"Sorry about the mess, it's not usually like this. Please - have a seat." He shuffles the paperwork awkwardly into a pile, shoving it into a drawer. "How can I help?"

They wait for Hardy to speak but he's suddenly lost for words. Miller jumps in before the long silence gets awkward. "What can you tell us about the Taylors?"

Paul blows a breath out through pursed lips. "You probably guessed they're very religious." They don't bother responding to that. "Seb's their oldest."

That stirs them into life, and Hardy leans forward. "We didn't see any sign of a second child-"

"He died. About ten years ago. He was only a few months old. From what I know, they weren't particularly religious before that but it just kick-started things. I've been a bit worried about them for a while; they obviously love Seb a lot but they focussed very hard on him. I know they always prayed for him to do well at school."

Hardy wonders if Paul is always so fast to spill people's secrets.

"He's not come to you at all?"

"I've only ever seen him with his family."

Miller spoke. "Can you tell us where you were last night?"

"I was... with a friend until about eleven. Then went home and was alone all night."

"Will they confirm it?"

His eyes don't so much as flicker towards Hardy. "I hope so."

He's briefly concerned at how well Paul obfuscates.

"Can you give us their name?"

"I, uh, I'd rather not. If you really need it I can but if I don't have to..."

Miller frowns, but there's a mulish set to Paul's face that suggests without pushing, and pushing hard, she's unlikely to get any more from him.

Hardy knows he's fucking up by staying quiet, but he promises himself that if there's any sign - one single bit of hard evidence - that Paul might be involved, he'll excuse himself from the investigation, rumours be damned.

"We might have more questions," Miller warns, and Paul nods.

"That's fine, I understand."

Hardy can feel sharp green eyes burning through his jacket as they walk back down the church path.

*-*-*-*-*

Seb Taylor is still missing on Monday, with no contact with his parents and no signal from his phone. There's more officers at the briefing, more nerves too, now it's over 72 hours without a sign.

Sheds and garages have been searched for miles around, CCTV checked where they can, though there's hardly anything outside of Broadchurch itself.

After the briefing Alec finds himself in front of the board again, reviewing what little they've got. A runaway, but disappeared without a trace - surely it shouldn't be doable here, not with so few roads and transport links. He's either nearby, or someone's hiding him. Or he's been picked up and is who knows where. Too many possibilities now, and time just keeps on ticking.

His phone rings and he answers it without looking.

"Yeah?"

"Alec?" It's Paul's voice, uncertain at the sharp greeting.

"I'm working right now, this isn't the time for a _chat_." And it's Tess all over again, picking just the wrong moments to try and talk, when he's caught up in a case and-

"Listen - listen! Alec! He's here, Seb, he's at the church."

" _What_?"

"He's fine, he's wet and cold but fine, can you-"

"Don't let him leave!"

"I wasn't planning-"

Hardy's hung up, coat and car keys in hand as he pelts through the office. "Miller! The church, _now_!"

*-*-*-*-*

They pull up to the church in a squeal of brakes, and leave the car haphazardly outside the steps.

Miller's out first, seatbelt undone before they'd even stopped, Hardy caught the wrong side of the car but long legs powering him up the path to overtake her as they burst through the sturdy oak door.

"Paul?" Hardy's voice is loud, abrupt and harsh in the sacrilegious space.

"Here!"

Paul steps round the door to the vestry, relief on his tired face.

Seb Taylor, tear streaked and grubby, is curled up on the comfortable sofa, a blanket around his shoulders and his hands around a mug of what looks like hot chocolate. Plump with puppy fat, little hint of the adult he'll someday grow into, he looks younger than his twelve years.

"Hi, Seb," Miller smiles, edges tinged with relief and fear. "Your mum and dad have been really worried about you. Are you ok?"

The boy bursts into tears, and in an instant _Miller_ becomes _Ellie_ becomes _Mum_ , and crouches down in front of him, voice soft and soothing.

By the door, Paul and Hardy have a furious, hissed conversation.

"How long's he been here for? Tell me he's not been here since Friday."

"Of course he's not been here since _Friday_! You think I would have let his parents go through all that if I had any idea he was here? He was just in the porch when I got here this morning."

"Did he say anything to you?"

Paul shrugs, though his face twists a little. "He's sorry, don't tell his parents. Nothing concrete, but he was pretty upset."

Hardy looks back at the boy on the sofa. "Did you have any suspicions about the family? Anything?"

A black look descends on Paul's face. "We've already talked about this. If I had the slightest idea he'd do anything like this, you think I wouldn't have stopped it? Said something?"

Hardy scowls but nods begrudgingly and turns his attention to the sofa, where tears have started to turn to snotty hiccups. There's a box of tissues by his leg, but the boy wipes his nose on the blanket. To his credit, Paul doesn't even flinch.

He crouches down to catch the boy's eye, not wanting to loom over him. "Can you tell us what happened, Seb?" Hardy's voice is soft. He's no monster, for all his reputation.

Seb looks up at him miserably. "My parents are going to hate me when I tell them," he chokes out.

"They've been really worried about you, sweetheart." Miller's voice is soft.

"I was going to send them a text to say I was ok and they shouldn't worry about me but I dropped my phone in a puddle and it stopped working." He says it in earnest, and Alec can feel the stress of it all starting to seep away. Just a runaway, and a wet phone. It could have been so much worse.

"We'll get you back to them soon, ok? Just need to know what happened."

"I... I lied about my grades. I changed them, I didn't want dad to be mad at me about getting loads of Cs so I changed some, but they were really excited about them and I couldn't tell them..." He descends into stuttering sobs as Hardy straightens up with a sigh.

Ellie's there with reassurances as Alec creeps away, ringing the station to confirm they have the kid safe and well, then the parents, who shriek and sob and promise to be there _right now_.

"Why'd you come here, Seb?" Miller asks, "Why'd you come to the church?"

The boy looks at Paul and sniffs loudly, though his voice is quiet. "I thought if I prayed, God might tell my parents not to be mad at me."

Outside, lingering after phone calls and not wanting to be back in the cramped room, Hardy blinks up at the stone ceiling. Praying for _that_ never worked for him.

Paul's voice is so kind, so gentle. "They might be a little bit mad at you, but I think they'll mostly just be happy to see you."

*-*-*-*-*

They wait in the porch, taking shelter from the rain. Seb still has the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and he's clinging to Paul like a life raft.

A car pulls up outside the steps and Seb's hand goes white where it's wrapped around Paul's forearm. The doors burst open and there's a shriek as Sarah Taylor lays eyes on her son. She races up the path, her husband following slightly more sedately, and flings herself at Seb.

There's a moment of stunned silence from the boy before he wraps his arms around her and bursts into tears again. "I'm so sorry Mum," he sobs, "I'm so sorry." Nick hugs the pair of them and buries his face in Seb's dark hair.

It's enough to warm even Alec Hardy's cold, defective heart, and beside him Miller's face is caught in a tearful smile, lips twitching as she tries to contain her emotions. Paul looks on, unruffled, but there's a softness to his expression that makes Hardy want to kiss him. He shoves the urge down relentlessly.

Nick is the first to look up. "Thank God you found him," he says to Paul.

Paul ducks his head and looks humble. "We prayed for you all on Sunday. I'm just glad our prayers were answered, that God showed Seb safely to us."

Hardy's chest burns at the ridiculousness of it. Brainwashing and sheer luck, nothing more, brought Seb here.

"Why'd you leave?" Sarah sobs out, hands curled around Sebs face as she forces herself to pull away for just a second before squeezing him close again. "We were so worried about you!"

The whole sorry story tumbles from trembling lips - bad grades, the lie, the hope for God to give him salvation.

Nick looks suddenly severe, and the tension in the small porch shifts a little. "God would think you a sinner for lying to us about your grades, Seb."

Both detectives open their mouths to object, but Paul steps in first, smooth and calm. "I think He would be pleased with Seb for wanting to ask forgiveness, and for understanding what he did was wrong. God asks us to forgive each other, and He asks us to repent. I think Seb's definitely repentant, aren't you Seb?"

The boy nods frantically against his mother's shoulder.

"I'm sure he won't do it again, the lying or the running away. But perhaps a little less pressure about his schoolwork...?"

Sarah nods tearfully. "We never meant to make you feel like this, sweetheart!"

A little more reluctant, Nick finally nods at Paul's firm gaze. "We can pray for God to forgive you."

"That's all any of us can ask," Paul says serenely. "And Seb is welcome here any time, to pray or talk or just sit in silence and drink hot chocolate."

Seb sniffs and wipes at his face, but offers up a watery grin. "Thanks, Reverend Paul."

"Come on, little church mouse," Paul says cheerfully, leaning in to knuckle away the tears. "They'll take you back home."

"If you could come to the station first, please? There's a bit of paperwork that needs filling out." Despite her emotions, Miller's no slacker, she'll always get the job done. The family nod and together they head down the path.

"Ah -" Paul cuts himself off from something that might have been Hardy's name, or just an interjection, and looks suddenly flustered. "Detective Hardy - would you mind if I borrow you for a minute?"

Hardy freezes but after a second gives Miller a quick dismissive nod and offers her the car keys. "You take them back, I'll be over in a bit."

It looks like she's about to protest, but then her eyes flick to Paul, and something about his expression makes her bite her tongue. "We'll meet you there."

They wait until the car's pulled away, the silence heavy and oppressive, before Paul opens his mouth to speak.

This is what the church does, Hardy thinks. It scares people and it hurts people and it ruins people. "I'm sorry," he says abruptly, hands untidily in his pockets, head low as he stares anywhere but Paul's face. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Do - what?"

"This. Us. Whatever Thursday night was."

"What, just because Seb turned to the church when he was in need? Because his parents had faith in God to bring him safely home?"

Something bitter in him knows that it's his own failing that cuts at him, his own inability to find a twelve year old boy, on top of the irritation the vicar manages to provoke in him without even trying. He gave up on God a long time ago. It's childish that Paul still believes in it, still has hope.

"Because you get off on this. On - religion, and guilt, and telling them that their prayers might be answered if they just try hard enough! It's all bollocks." He knows it's unfair but the words spill out regardless, venomous and harsh. And then the final slight, the one that's been gnawing at him since Thursday night, said low and vicious and resentful. "I think you just like having people on their knees."

"It was you -" Paul's voice is strangled "- It was _you_ who initiated that, don't put it on me!"

Hardy scowls. "Don't worry, it won't happen again."

"You really are just as bad as you seemed when we first met, aren't you? I thought I was getting to know the real you - turns out the real you is just an arsehole."

"I'm not a fucking iceberg - what you see is what you get! If you can't cope with that you may as well just leave now."

Paul starts at him for a long minute then gives him a brusque nod. "Right."

The church door swings shut behind him with a dreadful finality. Hardy stands, staring at it, for a long time before his shoulders slump and he staggers away.

*-*-*-*-*

It takes Miller all of two minutes at the station to see straight through him, damp and irritable from walking back to the station in the rain. She shoots him a look that says _I'm going to get the story out of you whether you like it or not_.

They deal with the paperwork, a handful of loose ends, and then the Taylors are free to go. Seb, twelve years old but still child enough, holds his mother's hand the whole time.

They watch them go, a job well done, before heading to the kitchen for a well deserved break. It's only a few steps, but it's enough for the air to turn chill.

"You," Miller says, thrusting a cup of tea at him, "Are an idiot."

"Oi!"

"Sir," she adds belatedly, and he raises a brow but lets it slide. "You just went and pissed off one of the very few people in this town who likes you, didn't you?"

He opens his mouth to protest and then snaps it shut. She's right. He _hates_ that. "No' my fault," he grumbles.

"I know you don't like him, but..." She trails off. Blinks. Looks at him. "Oh my god."

Hardy looks away. He can feel his cheeks going bright pink, nothing he can do about it.

"Oh my _god_ you absolutely slept with him. Alec Hardy, you dog!"

He hushes her frantically, looking around the room as though someone might be eavesdropping, though it's just the two of them.

"I cannot believe you didn't tell me this."

"It was only once!"

She's suddenly conspiratorial. "That bad, huh?"

"I'm not talking to you about this," Hardy hisses.

"Oh, that _good_!"

He stalks away, throwing his hands up in disgust.

Twenty minutes later she corners him with demands for lunch. His stomach betrays him, and she leads the way, an irritable air of smugness trailing behind her.

They sit under the shelter on the promenade, Tesco sandwiches in hand. Miller shoves ready salted crisps into her mouth between questions.

"Was it a date, then? Or just a hookup?"

Teeth gritted, he growls out, "Date."

"First date?"

"Mm."

"And then what, you went round to his place, did the dirty, then it got all awkward and now you can't stand each other?"

Hardy scowls down at his sandwich, chicken salad on brown bread. He pulls the crust off and throws it to the gulls, who leap on it with raucous screams.

"My place. Then the next time I saw him was in the Taylors' bloody creepy house."

Miller pulls a face. "Was a bit much, wasn't it?"

"Then today he goes and gives them a lecture about God and forgiveness, and it was all - a lot." His mouth twists unhappily. He'd almost forgotten in their tryst that Paul was a vicar, a religious man, and to have it hauled so unceremoniously to the forefront of his mind had been jarring.

"And then you thought you'd yell at him for being kind to a scared little boy and his family." She looks distinctly unimpressed.

He thinks about protesting, but instead just pulls another crust off the bread. A nearby seagull has him fixed in its beady gaze, beak at the ready, and when he tosses the crust over it snatches it up.

"You could apologise."

Hardy winces.

"If this hadn't happened, would you want to see him again?"

He thinks seriously about that, and comes to the conclusion that his answer is a resounding yes, despite his embarrassment at his own eagerness. He wants to go for dinner with Paul, wants to share secrets with him, thinks he probably wants to go to his knees for him again. He gives Miller a quick sharp nod.

"Go and apologise then, you idiot."

As though it's that easy. But it is, really. He'd done it all the time with Tess.

Maybe that's the problem. Apologising hadn't ever really helped anything with her, certainly not in the long run. But perhaps Paul would be different.

Big brown eyes watch him from the other side of the shelter as Miller sucks salt from her fingers, entirely unselfconscious. "Go and apologise to him or I'll go and ask him on a date myself. He's cute. And nice."

He groans, but gets to his feet, half eaten sandwich in hand. "Better buy flowers, hadn't I?"

Ellie gives him a fond look.

*-*-*-*-*

When he knocks on the door of the vicarage that evening, he has to try very hard not to fidget with his jacket, his collar, the bunch of pink and green things he'd picked up at the florist.

When the door opens wide Paul seems surprised to see him there, but recovers quickly and shakes his head. "Better come in," he says, and steps aside.

The vicarage is small and cosy, the living room a nest of muted colours and textures, blankets on the sofa and thick rugs across the stone floor. A gas fire burns low, just enough to take the chill from the air.

"I brought you these," he says, and holds out the flowers.

Paul puts his hands on his hips, not taking the bouquet. "What for?"

"For being an arse."

That earns him a sudden wry smile. "In that case I can think of a few other occasions I might have deserved them." But he does take the flowers, resting them on a low coffee table.

Hardy turns down tea, stands awkwardly at the side while Paul shoves books and blankets aside to clear a space on a worn looking armchair. "Sit. Please."

He hadn't even expected to be allowed in the door, so to be offered a seat throws him off a little, but he obligingly settles down. The soft cushion embraces him.

Tired green eyes watch him from across the room as he tries to gather his words. "I'm sorry," he starts, which seems a sensible option. "I shouldn't have said what I did."

"No, you shouldn't."

He blinks a little at Paul's bluntness. No passive aggressive needling at his edges, just quiet acceptance of the mistake coupled with a sense of patient anticipation. He fumbles on. "I shouldn't have taken things out on you. Or," and this one hurts, but it might be the most important bit, "Said what I said about... Religion."

Paul finally takes mercy on him.

"I appreciate your apology." Hardy notes that he hasn't said accepted, and something sinks in his gut. One date, one weekend, and he's blown it already. But Paul's still talking. "I'm a people person but probably not a very great vicar, religiously speaking. Other than the odd deserving fire and brimstone sermon," and Hardy remembers very well one particular iteration of that, "I can't stand the judgement. But I know how important faith can be, how much it can be a guiding light in the darkness. I won't ask you to understand my faith, but I do need you to respect it. Otherwise this won't work."

Hardy's cheeks are red with the dressing-down, but he looks up and nods. "Alright."

Paul-the-vicar is suddenly gone, replaced by nervous Paul-the-man, who's faintly embarrassed at his own passion. "Alright you can respect it, or alright you understand what I'm asking for and can't give it?"

Alec looks at him steadily, though his heart is suddenly beating double time. "If I say I'll respect it. Can we still try?"

Paul chooses his words carefully. "I enjoyed Thursday - _really_ enjoyed it - but between that and this morning I think we got off to a bit of a bad start. Let's slow things down, take it step by step. But yes, if you want to keep seeing me, then I'd like that."

Alec swallows back the beaming smile threatening to take over his face. "Aye, alright."

Paul has no such restraint, giving him a broad smile that shows sharp white teeth. "Can I come over there and kiss you? It's all I wanted to do since I left on Thursday."

"Yes - god yes! Ah, shit, I didn't-" But warm lips are on his, and he has a heavy armful of vicar who doesn't seem to mind one bit about his blasphemy.

Paul tastes of tea, and chocolate, and a familiar undertone of - "Have you been smoking?" Hardy asks in disbelief.

The vicar gave him a guilty look. "I was stressed."

"Sorry," Hardy says again. It hurts less this time.

"I'm sorry too. For calling you an arsehole." Paul leans down again, cupping Hardy's face in large hands, thumbs running across sharp cheekbones. "You have the most gorgeous eyes, Alec Hardy."

He can feel his face heat up, and from Paul's grin he can feel it too. He leans up, pushing against that gentle grasp, and Paul takes pity on him, closing the gap between them to press his lips against Alec's own.

Tentative lips become tongues become teeth and harsh breaths. Paul's knees are tight around his hips, bottom heavy on his thighs, the hands curled on his face drifting down to roam over his chest, through his hair, around his back where the muscles tense and quiver. He's trapped in the cage of Paul's body, and the weight of it grounds him even as he gasps against Paul's needy mouth.

Without conscious thought his hips twitch up, a minute movement that makes Paul grin against him again, corners of his lips tilting up sweetly as he licks deep.

After long minutes Paul leans back, and when Hardy learns forward to chase after him he splays a hand on his chest to hold him still. Alec freezes, but Paul's face is soft and kind, green eyes blown dark. "We should stop, or we're going to be repeating last time all over again."

Hardy ducks his head but offers a wry smile as he looks up through his lashes. "Not that bad, as I remember."

"Oh, not at all, it was very - good." Paul doesn't miss the way Hardy blinks slow and heavy at the reminder. "But we said slow. And..." He swallows hard. "I don't want to mess this up."

He's right. Of course he's right. Hardy hates him.

"Good. Right. Yes." He clears his throat. Paul slides off his lap and offers him a hand.

"I'll see you out?"

Paul grabs his arse on the way to the door, and then they're kissing again, Hardy crowding the shorter man against the wall, hip to hip until they can both feel the other's arousal, and the feel of it is a heady drug.

It's Hardy that steps back this time, Paul who groans briefly at the loss before bowing his head. "You have to leave. Out, go, shoo!" He laughs, almost giggles, and the sound sends a thrill through Hardy's chest and gut and cock.

He snatches a final kiss, sensitive lips against the rough stubble of Paul's jaw, and Paul laughs as he shoves him out the door - "Go!"

He bites back a grin as he jogs through the rain back to his car, talking a last look back at Paul, framed in the doorway with warm light spilling out around him, and Paul ducks back inside with a wave and a guilty grin at being caught looking.

Taking a seat he tugs down the sunshade and looks at himself in the mirror. Hair rain-damp and mussed, tie askew, lips pink and swollen.

He looks a mess.

He looks _happy_.


End file.
